


Patrick Stump's Enchanted Christmas Special

by Kittypatch



Series: Patrick Stump and the Enchanted Castle [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Magic, Castles, Christmas, Humor, M/M, Out of Character, Sasstrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 04:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittypatch/pseuds/Kittypatch
Summary: The only way for Patrick to truly celebrate Christmas in his new castle, is with a spectacular dance party. Things do not go to plan. (festive one shot)





	Patrick Stump's Enchanted Christmas Special

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a fun festive fic for you all to enjoy :)

**_'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse_** …well, actually, Patrick was stirring. He was restless in the cottage, in the grounds of the large castle that he now called home. The second one he'd ever called home, though the first had, of course, been more of a hostage situation.

“I am not moving!” Patrick said, talking to the inanimate candstick, worn down to the wick on the wooden table in their cozy little house. The bed was empty, Pete was in the castle across the large causeway. Patrick was still in the cottage that they'd been gifted.

The King and Queen were currently visiting family in a far-away land, due to it being the Christmas period. Pete insisted that they should be living in the castle, Patrick was protesting. The kind King and Queen were not Patrick’s biggest fan, partly to do with the dramatic conclusion to the past year, wherein Pete refused a business deal to a marry a lovely princess and build a bond. Pete fell in love with Patrick’s voice, his good heart and most importantly his dance skills. They were married soon enough.

So Patrick was now talking to an inanimate candlestick because it reminded him of Joe, his old friend and one-time candlestick, who no longer lived with him, but in the closest village. They met up often, usually for karaoke, that happened every Thursday in the tavern that they briefly shared a room above. A lot had happened in the last year.

“Why could we not just live in a cottage in the trees like most other countryfolk?” Patrick asked the silent candle and then huffed to himself. He was tired and wanted to go to bed, but he didn’t like sleeping alone. It reminded him of the time he spent in Butch's castle.

 

Pete was not, as Patrick presumed, living it up in his former chambers in the castle, but complaining to his constant and long-suffering favored guard, Andy. He was in the servant’s quarter, legs up on a second chair, warm and heated in front of the flickering fire. Andy was wiping over crystal bowls and glasses, doing the job of the butler, if the butler was around. 

“I told Patrick that the king and queen would hardly care where we stay. It is Christmas after all. They have to love him at Christmas. And we are married.”

“I suppose they will not know either way,” Andy said, deciding for once not to apply logic. He was terribly tired, and he really would rather that Pete would go to bed. “Is it not perhaps time for bed?”

“I suppose it is,” Pete said, hopping up and not the least bit tired. He was a prince that lived on very little sleep. “Patrick does not approve of sleeping alone. Brings out the bad thoughts.”

 

Pete tried to bring the argument around the next morning, after a bout of enthusiastic sex, that had at least calmed Patrick’s body, if not his voice. They laid together in their little cottage, damp and cooling.

“The castle isn’t so bad, Patrick, and there’s room for all of the pets.” From beneath the table there was a quiet purr, from beneath the bed a dog-like snore. Patrick had become a collector of animals in his time with Pete. They liked it when he sang to them, and he’d even convinced Pete that he could communicate with the pets. It was quite fun, seeing how twisted around his finger he had Pete. 

“If I am to be forced against my will to live once more inside a castle then I at least want to have a party,” Patrick said. A large empty castle wouldn’t be so bad if it was filled with the people that Patrick loved most in life. So far, that included Pete, their pets, and Joe, the candlestick. Gabe too, though he was currently living his life elsewhere, Patrick hadn’t seen the purple flower in their little cottage garden for months now.

“I do love a party,” Pete agreed. He had, in his youth, been known as Prince Pete, Lord of the Party Animals. However, the last one he’d thrown hadn’t gone to plan, Patrick had lost his voice, had his heart broken and Pete had had a brief foray into the clutches of a nefarious warlock called Brendon. “Maybe an intimate dinner party and then a larger party for the village afterward?”

“That sounds okay,” Patrick agreed. He supposed he couldn’t argue with that. He bumped his thigh with Pete’s and smiled up at the ceiling. “I suppose I shall come up with a guest list.”

“You are good at those things,” Pete pondered aloud. It was a good job, one day Pete would be king and Patrick would be his _official_ consort. Guest lists and dinner parties would be Patrick’s day job. Pete hadn’t told him that. 

 

“He can speak to animals; did you know that?” Pete was telling Andy three days later. Patrick had agreed to move into the castle, and they’d spent the previous day redecorating Pete’s chambers. He’d also found himself tied up and used in a fantastically brilliant way by Patrick. Townsfolk made the best lovers, Pete had always known that.

“I think he is probably teasing you,” Andy was saying. He was pouring salt over the stone entrance to the castle. The snow was falling thick and fast, and Pete didn’t want anyone having slippery falls on their way to the dinner party.

“No,” Pete shook his head adamantly. “Patrick only teases about the unimportant things in life.”

 

“…And he thinks I can talk to animals, which is delightful. It’s how I’ve got so many pets. Rather that than a child, I suppose.” They’d have to get one off someone at some point, maybe a sad orphan. But Patrick wasn’t ready for that. Pets first and foremost. 

“But you can’t actually speak to animals,” Joe was saying. There was snow caught in the frazzled ends of his curls, which was probably the only reason that he hadn’t caught fire in around the twenty minutes or so it had been since they met up.

“Well I _can,_ ” Patrick inferred with a shrug. “But anyone can talk to animals and presume they understand each other. Plus, he hasn’t quite worked out that I infinitely prefer communicating with animals than matters of state.”

“I thought you were banned from all matters of politics,” Joe inquired, because he was nosey and also Patrick’s friend. Patrick looped his arm through his friend’s elbow. That was an official thing. Technically Patrick had belonged to Butch, and through magic, interrogation and a two-month negotiation phase, Patrick technically belonged to the Wentz household. He couldn’t think of it in those terms, or he’d be appalled, but it was what it was.

“Oh I am, but that doesn’t mean I don’t involved myself in them,” Patrick beamed at his friend brightly, remembering the times together when Joe had been the only light in his life. The thought made him laugh. “Joe, you must come to the dinner party we’re throwing. Pete has placed me in charge of the guests, and he even said we can have karaoke and dancing, though only if I dance with him.”

“Will you wear your gloves?” Joe wondered aloud. Patrick hadn’t worn his magically sparkling pair of fingerless gloves in months now. He didn’t like to over do things. That was _not_ Patrick Stump’s style.

“Perhaps,” Patrick answered lightly. He wasn’t too sure yet. 

Patrick knew the best way to get his guest list approved was to send out the invitations prior to giving Pete the recommended guest list. He also gave Pete one of his better blow jobs, in the royal throne, to really get him in a good mood.

“We cannot invite Frank to our Christmas dinner,” Pete said with a gentle laugh that only ever came after an orgasm. Patrick was up from his knees now and swirling wine from a chalice beside the throne. He gave Pete a confused look and waited for the prince to explain. “Well, he is a villain and I’m a heroic prince. It doesn’t seem right.”

“Well I was locked up in a castle against my will for nearly two years, but I was neither a damsel or in distress.” Patrick’s comparison clearly confused Pete, who stared up at him with kind but deeply confused eyes. “We are all more than what we appear to be, Pete. We're all more than just one thing.”

“If he poisons us we'll all be dead,” Pete pointed out, but Patrick just shrugged and continued to smile at Pete until the prince, as always, nodded his head and conceded defeat to him. “I suppose I should send a royal invite.”

“No need,” Patrick interrupted brightly, leaning over the throne to land a kiss on Pete’s cheek. “I sent them last night.”

 

Patrick mixed a potent Christmas punch on arrival to his grand dinner party. He learned at a young age in the village he grew up in that alcohol and the excitable feeling of Christmas was a fantastic mix. His first kiss with the butcher’s son had been beneath a mistletoe'd archway behind the tavern. Their relationship, in hindsight to what he had now, was bland and unexciting, but he refused to allow it to detract from the warm feelings of the past that it gave him.

He and Joe got merry on the punch, retelling stories of Butch’s castle together. Patrick was wearing a green cape that was best suited for cold walks in the palace gardens, but as it was a Christmas gift from the prince, he thought he better wear it with pride all night. He was rather hot, and the Christmas punch wasn’t helping the matter. 

“I bought him a ring, you know, as his Christmas gift,” Patrick told Joe brazenly, full of the Christmas spirit. His friend was singed and smelling of smoke once more, but Patrick just patted out the burgeoning flames and carried on. “It matches the one he got me, but it doesn’t go on his finger.”

“Where do you get such a thing?” Joe asked, sounding both horrified and enthralled about the idea. Patrick wiggled his ring finger, where his wedding ring lay.

“I read about it in one of the books in Butch’s library,” Patrick said airily. He’d made sure it sparkled just as much as the one on his finger, so that they matched perfectly. “Then I found a man during karaoke one night. He made it with discretion.”

“Interesting,” Joe said. There was silence, as his thoughts took him on a different train of thought. Patrick wandered away, to where the guests were piling in. 

All the guests arrived on time, aside from Gabe, who was fashionably late and arrived in the shape of a purple vase bought in unwittingly on the butler’s tray. Once he was seated opposite Patrick at the dining table, he took a breath and stared around the room.

It was only a select few friends at the dinner party, for the main event was happening later in the night. Joe was keeping conversation with Andy and Pete, and Patrick was listening to Gabe’s frantic discussion of his recent travels. In the center of the table was a frosted meringue reenactment of the palace that Patrick now called home. Frank had made it and had promised it contained no poison whatsoever. Patrick had assured Pete that no children were coming and as they were Frank’s downfall, it was most probably poison-free. Frank had bought the Wicked Way of the West as his plus one, which was unnecessary and had Patrick hiding his plethora of pets from, just in case something terrible were to happen to them. The Way was always looking for a new coat. The rest of the table was made up of friends of Pete’s, from society, but the unsavory end of it; people Patrick knew by name and had possibly seen naked during an accidental interruption of strip poker one time.

“So, what became of the warlock Brendon?” Frank asked, pouring wine down his throat. He was looking rather merry for a child tormenting villain. For all his promises to stop, Patrick wasn’t entirely sure he had. 

“He rescued the princess, lost his best side to the dragon,” Pete said casually. “Rather him than me.”

“So he is dead,” Frank said, looking almost as if he wanted to raise a toast in honor of a fellow villain. Patrick watched with narrow eyes, hoping they weren’t to have a falling out before dessert.

“I don’t think he’s dead. He’ll be back and raising a mutiny, but we’ll handle it when the time comes,” Pete said causally. He smiled around the table, as if his words held much comfort.

“If he mutes me again I shall murder him,” Patrick said and then thought about it some more. “You would pardon me, Pete? If I murdered the man that stole my voice.”

“I wouldn’t want either of us getting our hands dirty!” Pete said. His voice slid up a notch higher. Patrick narrowed his eyes until he could barely see a thing, but jumped out of it when Gabe started to talk loudly to everyone in the room.

“You know, Patrick, I met someone just like you once. A pixie.”

“I’m not a pixie, I am a human,” Patrick informed him. “We are all human here, apart from Joe, who must still be part candlestick.”

“Not all of me is shaped like a candlestick,” Joe said. Patrick gave him a strange look, it wasn’t like he had anyone here to impress. “Who is this pixie you speak of?”

“Oh no one of importance, but the sharp tongue and short demeanor is remarkably similar. Have I told anyone of the time I met a kayaking troll?”

Patrick was thoroughly bored by the end of the dinner party. He wanted to be back in the little cottage he shared with Pete, surrounded by their animals and drinking wine in bed. the food was lovely, but Patrick wasn’t really one for intimate parties like this, and all of these people that he knew and loved….well he loved them more in separate situations. 

When they’d started to demolish the sugary castle that frank had created, guests started to slowly leak in from the grounds. As it was Christmas, it seemed only fair to host a celebratory ball for all of the village. Patrick was looking forward to it. In a way, he’d been hoping for a little more of the Christmas cheer to infiltrate him. The longer the dinner party went on, the more glum he seemed to get.

He ended up alone in the throne room, legs over the arm of the chair, and a glass of Christmas punch nearly finished in his hand. He could hear the sound of music from the grand hall, the sound of laughter from hundreds of different people. 

The groan of the throne room door opening, lifted Patrick’s eyes from the dregs of his cup and he looked up to see Pete standing there, looking around before finding Patrick sitting in his ornate throne. He smiled, somewhat salacious, and took slow steps toward him.

“You’re usually the first on the dancefloor, why are you alone in here?” Pete asked curiously. He grabbed the punch from Patrick’s hand and then drained the glass, dropping it to the floor. He decided he wanted to be on the throne too and so plucked and pulled at Patrick until he wiggled around. They were both sitting in it eventually, though one of Patrick’s thighs ended up balanced on Pete’s.

“The Christmas spirit has departed me,” Patrick said eventually. He rested his head on Pete’s shoulder and huffed dramatically just to prove a point. “Maybe it’s being in the castle.”

“What were you doing last Christmas?” Pete asked, perhaps momentarily forgetting where Patrick had spent the previous year.

“Studying the ceiling of Butch’s chambers,” Patrick informed him slowly. Pete appeared not to get it, until he did. Then he started to fumble toward an apology. Patrick shook his head.

“I don’t know what it is about this place. Sometimes I just feel trapped, like I did then, even if nothing bad had ever happened to me here.” He did lose his voice to a warlock in this castle, but Patrick wasn’t counting that part. 

“Our castles were built by the same man,” Pete said seriously. Patrick laughed and grabbed his hand. On his ring finger was a flamboyant overly decorated ring with diamonds and emeralds. It wasn’t Patrick’s choice, but it was in the Wentz rulebook that Pete was to marry his love with the ring his great grandfather gave to his first wife. It was more suited to a princess than a man that enjoyed dancing inappropriately in taverns, but Patrick had appreciated the sentiment, even if it did snag on all of his finest suits. 

“I’m sorry I’m so bossy,” Patrick said. “I’m sorry I made you throw this party and now I can’t appreciate it.”

“I don’t mind so long as I’m with you,” Pete admitted, which was nice. It made Patrick’s insides feel all soft and buttery. “Plus we could always go back to my chambers and try the ring on that you got me. So long as you wear your new cape and sparkling gloves. That would be a good idea.”

“That sounds nice,” Patrick said. “But make it the cottage instead of the chambers.”

“I want this to be our home,” Pete said, but Patrick held his tongue this time. This was not a matter of want, it could never be a matter of want. Pete would one day be king and thus, this would be their home whether Patrick liked it or not. 

“I know. But does it have to be just yet?” Patrick asked. His mind caught onto an idea. He looked at Pete and then tried to put on his brightest smile. “We could go away for a while… a tour of the lands in preparation for your term as King. Then, I’ll have got all of the free-spiritedness of my personality out of the way and we can live here in the castle together. I promise.”

“Even if it would make you miserable?” Pete asked. “Because you’ve complained _a lot_ since we moved here.”

“No, I haven’t,” Patrick insisted. “But we could go to all these new places and you wouldn’t be a prince, so we could go undercover and have sordid sex wherever you want and I’ll only flirt with people when you’re not around.”

Pete’s eyes narrowed, as if he was seriously considering things. “I always liked pretending to be lowly in my youth. I could frame it as a life lesson before taking on more royal duties. And you would be happy living like that.”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “We can take the pets too, I’m sure there’d be room for some of them on our travels.”

“One of each perhaps.” Pete stood up and stepped down from the throne. He lowered down and held his hand out to Patrick, in a deep bow. “My love we have a tour to pack for.”

“Oooh,” Patrick said. “We should have a dance in the great hall before packing. Oh! And I have to speak to Joe. To tell him that we are leaving, for longer than a trip but shorter than forever. Half a year at least. Two maybe.”

“Two half years?”

Patrick pondered. “Maybe three. Come, let’s dance with excitement!”

“You’re happy again,” Pete said, a little dreamily, as Patrick tugged enthusiastically on his arm.

They danced for approximately thirty minutes, or at least Patrick did, while Pete stood there looking slightly concerned, face turning pink and pants getting infinitely stiffer. He only just about a managed to pull Patrick away from getting really into the dancing before he grew something like a backbone and tugged on Patrick’s arm.

They packed lightly, or at least Patrick did, for he was used to having less than he deserved. Just a few change of clothes, a photo of his father, his sparkling fingerless gloves and his new heavy green cape across his shoulders. The rest of their time in the chambers was dealing with Pete’s franticness of what crown he should pack.

“Maybe no crown would be best,” Patrick offered lightly, eyes flashing between the gold and ornate one balanced on Pete’s head, and the more robust black one that lay on the extravagant bed. The first thing that they had packed had been the diamond cock-ring, that they as of yet hadn’t been able to try out. The matching one on Patrick’s ring finger glittered. 

“It’s forbidden for a prince to travel without a crown,” Pete said, looking distraught. “I look best in black.” He plucked the golden one from his head and replaced it with the black one. “One day I shall order a crown for your head.”

“No need.” Patrick waved a hand. “I rule in your heart and that is enough. Now come Pete, I must say goodbye to Joe and you need to send a letter to your parents explaining our departure. I think they will be glad to see the back of me.”

“I think you may be right,” Pete agreed awkwardly. There was little else to add.

 

“But why are you leaving?” Joe said. There was a suspicious wobble to his voice and he sounded both drunk and almost upset. They were just outside the doors of the great hall, where the dancing and music was coming from. Pete was standing directly in the doorway, explaining the change in plan to a worrisome looking Andy. Patrick ignored everyone but Joe, and hugged the former candlestick, sharing his velvety warm cape with him for a moment.

“Because I am a free independent spirit that has spent far too long cooped up in stuffy castles. And it isn’t forever. Only until Pete’s really needed.”

“And then you will return and rule as one?” Joe asked, he was still holding onto Patrick’s caped shoulders, perhaps remembering the times they spent together, in the dungeons, rescued by Gabe the terrible fairy godfather. 

“I’m not of royal blood so no, but I’ll boss him around on matters that don’t relate to ruling a kingdom. And then we will adopt orphans and I suppose take care of them instead. You will look after the pets we can’t take?”

“Yes yes!” Joe wiped at his eyes and Patrick patted his cheek. The one plus side was he was feeling far too sodden to burst into flames at any given moment. “How abo—”

There was a pause, a break in the conversation as the heavy castle doors burst open. Two men walked in, neither of particular interest to Patrick, though he turned and stared all the same. Skinny, tall. Certainly not invited to this Christmas ball. The tallest was wearing obnoxious round glasses and a red woolen hat pulled over his skull. 

“Heathens!” cried Gabe all of a sudden, forming from a cloud of glittering purple dust beside Patrick. He must have packed himself away in Patrick’s trunk. “The castle is in grave danger!”

There was the silvery tinny sound of swords being drawn from around the castle. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Patrick touched Joe’s shoulder and looked over at Pete, who was rearranging the black crown on his head and shaking his head sadly at Patrick. No getaways just yet.

Well, Patrick straightened up. Their grand trip away from the life of castles and royalty may have to be delayed, but they’d fought off one terrible warlock, these two would be no worse. He marched over to Pete and held out his hand. Pete took it, his thumb brushing Patrick’s wedding ring. 

There were many things that could have gone wrong in that moment, where they stood side by side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a vibrant plume as Joe’s hair went up in flames. His sadness had dried up clearly and the fire had taken him by surprise.

“What is it that you nefarious Heathens want?” Andy asked.

“Your kingdom, your castle and all your glory.” They didn’t sound very evil, certainly not like Brendon, who had a cackle that Patrick really wouldn’t forget in a hurry, yet they appeared to stand by their words. The two men in front of them were twitching unusually, the red hatted one had his neck blackened strangely. They were certainly no townsfolk that Patrick knew, but they had to do _something_. Patrick leaned close to Pete's ear, lips brushing.

“Perhaps a dance-off?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this Christmas special!
> 
> To be continued... maybe :)


End file.
